cry me a river
by envysparkler
Summary: It's the final straw that breaks the camel's back. - Fudou, Kidou.


**a/n:** Because I love torturing poor Fudou and apparently nothing is going to stop the plot bunnies.

 **disclaimer:** I don't own Inazuma Eleven.

 **summary:** It's the final straw that breaks the camel's back. – Fudou, Kidou.

* * *

 _ **cry me a river**_

* * *

The very last thing Fudou wants to hear is the sound of the door and judging by the intensity of the slam, it comes accompanied with the very last person Fudou wants to see.

"Hiding in the restroom," Kidou spits out, disbelieving, "Really? Are you seriously _that_ much of a coward?"

Fudou stays turned away from Kidou and stares into the mirror, his fingers clenched around cold porcelain. Kidou can't see his reflection from the doorway, can't see the ugly sight of red-rimmed eyes and drying tear tracks. He can't hear Fudou's hitched breathing, can't see his fingers spasm as Fudou tries valiantly to regain control.

His hair hangs limply over his face, damp with sweat and sticking to his cheek but Fudou doesn't dare push it away. He's afraid that his death grip on the sink is the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces and Fudou cannot break in front of his greatest rival.

"Are you even listening to me?" Kidou hisses and Fudou can hear him step inside. He tightens his grip on the sink, but no matter how hard he wishes, Kidou isn't going to drop dead. Another tear slides down his face because unless there is a miracle, Kidou is going to walk further in and he is going to see the very clear confirmation of Fudou's weakness. No amount of splashing water will hide the evidence, especially not when Fudou's on the verge of curling up and letting go.

And there won't be a miracle. The universe hates him far too much.

"You lost us the match and you're _still_ acting like you're above us?" Kidou snarls and takes another step. Fudou doesn't feel like he's above anyone. He feels like he's already six feet below. "You're unbelievable," Kidou says, and steps forward until Fudou can see his bristling figure in the mirror.

It's panic and desperation that finally drives Fudou to words. "Go _away_ ," Fudou grits out, but he can't even do that correctly – his voice breaks on the second word and the lump in his throat swells until he can't swallow anymore. He can't fight the tears any longer – the burning increases and spills over, fresh tears washing over his face.

"Go away?" Kidou nearly swells with rage, unknowing or uncaring of Fudou's broken expression. "Go _away_? I'm not some lackey you can order around, Fudou! I'm your captain and you should show some _respect_!"

Fudou wants to laugh. The absurdity of Kidou's words is enough, for a second, to break past the despair and guilt and exhaustion. Fudou hasn't _ever_ shown Kidou respect, not once in the six months since Kidou was named captain of their high school team. Six months ago, Kidou didn't care that Fudou called him names.

Six months ago, Fudou's mother was alive and well, not sick and dying.

The brief flare of amusement vanishes as quickly as it came and Fudou's left with a growing hole in his heart as Kidou's footsteps echo closer. He doesn't care about the match. Not this one today, where Fudou's distraction cost their team the game. Not the one last week, when Fudou missed half his passes and nearly kicked the ball in his own goal.

Why should he care, when his mother is in the hospital, when every breath she takes might be her last, when her last, dying wish is to see a man that Fudou now knows is dead?

"I don't even know why I bother," Kidou huffs finally, coming to a standstill. His arms are crossed and he's looking away from the mirror, as if unable to bear the sight of Fudou's hunched figure, "You're a disappointment. You've always been a disappointment, and you always will be."

He turns to leave and Fudou should be happy, should be relieved, but all he can hear is _'you're a disappointment'_ again and again on a loop in his head. Kidou's words hit too close to home and Fudou is filled with ever-increasing dread of going to the hospital, going to his mother and telling her that he can't find her husband. He can't find his father, because his father is six feet in the ground and has been that way for years.

Fudou has never been a dutiful son. He started acting out when his father left them, started and he hasn't stopped since. He dyes his hair to stand out, he acts disrespectful to stand out, he joins gangs to stand out and throughout it all, his mother has stood by his side, silent and always there. The one time his mother needs him to be there for him…

Fudou is a disappointment, even to his own mother.

He is a failure. A loser, a letdown, a washout. His father is dead and Fudou can't even decide whether to tell his mother the truth, or to tell him he failed and let her die believing that he is every bit the ungrateful son. He knows the kinder option, but Fudou will not be able to live with the memory of his mother's disenchantment.

"You're really not going to say _anything_?" Kidou pauses at the door and Fudou's legs shake with the effort of staying upright. A few more moments and then Kidou will be gone and Fudou will be left to break down in peace. He knows that he owes his mother this one last kindness, even if it will destroy him, and Fudou dreads every step between here and the hospital.

"Fudou?" Kidou asks again and there is more weariness than anger in his voice. Fudou stays silent, head bowed, silently praying to every deity that he can think of to make Kidou go away and never come back. "Fudou," Kidou repeats and Fudou curses too low for anyone to hear. His dear captain will not be satisfied without a verbal response, it seems.

"What?" Fudou snarls, and is pleased when the hoarseness of his voice masks the dangerously high pitch. The lump in his throat is still there and the tears are once more threatening to spill.

Unfortunately, it seems like the genius gamemaker is no longer too angry to make rational decisions and Kidou picks up on the hoarseness of his voice, walking back into the room. Fudou curses again and stiffly unclenches one trembling hand from the sink, turning on the faucet. The sound of the water will cover his uneven breathing and, if he's lucky, Kidou can take the unsubtle hint for what it is and _go away_.

Kidou is apparently above plebeian things like hints and only steps closer, staring at the mirror and furrowing his eyebrows. "Are you alright?" he asks finally and Fudou looks up.

He is not a pretty sight. His hair is hanging lifelessly and his entire face is pale and drawn in the harsh, fluorescent glare. His red eyes and runny nose are the only two spots of color on his face and the tear tracks glisten in the light. He meets Kidou's gaze with resignation because there is no point in hiding it anymore.

Fudou still remembers being five years old and watching his father walk away. He still remembers his mother kneeling in front of him, deadly serious, and making him promise to be strong. Not like his father, not weak, not bawling like a child in front of his teammate and rival. She would be so disappointed if she could see him now.

She made him promise to hunt down his father, too. Fudou is destined to break his promises, it seems.

Kidou doesn't even give Fudou the satisfaction of a physical response. No jaw-drop of shock, no gaping mouth, no furrow of his eyebrows, no twist of the mouth. His face stays as blank as it usually is, all emotion hidden behind those thrice-damned goggles of his.

"What happened?" he asks coolly, every inch the proud, dignified captain of Teikoku High. Fudou, in comparison, is nothing more than the slime on his cleats and feels about as useless and disgusting.

"Just go away, Kidou," Fudou rasps, leaving off the honorific for the first time, "I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong," Kidou replies, in that insufferably calm voice of his. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall and Fudou can tell that he's scrutinizing him behind those tinted goggles of his. Analyzing him, like the genius gamemaker has analyzed so many opponents before, cataloguing weaknesses and chinks in the armor.

Not that Fudou's made it difficult for him.

Fudou breaks his gaze and bows his head, staring at the sink. Water is gushing from the faucet and spiraling down the drain, just like his life. He waits a moment more, out of the faint, unrealistic hope that Kidou will get bored and leave, but he should know better. He _does_ know better.

Kidou-kun is terminally incapable of letting things go. Fudou isn't sure if the word _'boredom'_ even exists in Kidou's vocabulary, or if it's another thing that Kageyama drilled out of him. Kidou was always the perfect soldier.

"My mother is sick," Fudou finally whispers, shutting off the faucet. Kidou won't leave without an answer, fine, but Fudou will make sure he regrets that decision. "She's dying. She has only a few days left." The lump in his throat comes back as he voices his despair out loud, but he swallows painfully and keeps going. "She wants to see my father one last time," Fudou says, his voice getting softer and softer. Kidou knows enough about his family situation – Fudou still hasn't forgiven Hibiki for blabbing his entire life story to Inazuma Japan – to understand what Fudou's father is to him.

"I can't find him," Fudou says softly, "And this morning, I found out that he's dead."

His father's death means next to nothing for him – that bastard walked out on his family years ago – but his mother truly loved the man once and Fudou's stomach is a roiling pit at the mere thought of telling her that Fudou Toshiro is gone. She shouldn't live her last few days in sadness.

He expects Kidou to leave now, leave so that Fudou can have his breakdown in peace as he considers just what to tell his mother. Kidou, as usual, defies his expectations and steps closer, until Fudou can see his reflection just above his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Kidou says in the softest tone that Fudou has ever heard, and lays a hand on his shoulder. The combination of the two extremely uncharacteristic actions is enough to destroy Fudou completely.

He lets go of the sink and goes boneless, crashing to his knees on the dirty linoleum floor as he starts sobbing. His tears aren't silent tracks of water now, they're loud and noisy and Fudou is so preoccupied with hating himself that he doesn't realize that Kidou's dropped down to his level until a warm cape settles around his shoulders.

The shock is enough to bring Fudou out of his misery and his sobs turn to hiccoughs as he twists to look at Kidou. The sight of Teikoku's genius captain on his knees in a dirty bathroom is a startling picture, but the clear view of Kidou's red eyes, goggles pushed back into his hair, is even more surprising.

"What?" Fudou's voice cracks halfway through and he has to take a few deep breaths to choke off the sobs. He tries again, "Why?"

It's a vague question perhaps, Fudou can't quite articulate his confusion, but Kidou gets the gist. "I understand what it feels like to be helpless in the face of death," he says quietly, red almond eyes gleaming, "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

Fudou doesn't quite care _what_ the guy understands because the anger and despair are starting to leech away into mortification. He sobbed like a child in front of _Kidou_ – Fudou is never going to live this down.

"You can go away now," Fudou growls, his embarrassed gaze fixed on an off-white tile in front of Kidou's knee. Paradoxically, he burrows deeper in Kidou's cape – the thing is warm and comfortable and now he gets why Kidou carts it around everywhere.

"Right," Kidou says, the faintest sound of exasperated amusement in his tone. Fudou doesn't bother looking up, but he can hear Kidou getting to his feet. "You can give my cape back tomorrow." Footsteps sound, getting lighter and lighter until Kidou reaches the door. Then, they pause. "What's your mother's name?"

"Fudou Amaya," Fudou responds automatically, and his brain catches up with him only after the door closes behind Kidou. "Wait, why? Kidou-kun?" He lunges to his feet too fast and pauses for a moment to blink away the head rush before heading to the door.

"Kidou?" he calls out again into the dark corridor, clutching the cape even tighter. There's no one here and Fudou curses. There's really no reason for hot tears to course down his face, but Fudou is so worn out he doesn't bother stopping them.

There is, after all, only one place that Kidou would go after a question like that.

* * *

Sure enough, he finds Kidou at his mother's bedside. He has to run the whole way here and Kidou already had a head start, even if he didn't use his fancy car. Fudou has been so concerned on finding Kidou that he hasn't thought about anything else and it's only when the smile slips off of his mother's face that Fudou realizes what he looks like.

He's still wrapped up in Kidou's cape, still in his grass-stained uniform, his eyes are red, his nose is running and the drying tear tracks on his face are beginning to itch. He's red-faced and panting, out-of-breath from running up two flights of stairs and adrenaline is still coursing through him from the near miss with the car two blocks back.

Even Kidou raises an eyebrow at his appearance.

"Akio?" his mother frowns, "What happened to you?" Fudou gapes at her, then at Kidou – who still looks politely confused, the bastard – before making a cursory attempt to wipe his face off with the cape. It's useless, but Fudou feels slightly better after dirtying Kidou's cape. He shoots Kidou a filthy look – the imbecile still has the temerity to look like he doesn't know what's going on – and drops into the remaining chair.

"Akio," his mother repeats, her frown deepening, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Fudou sighs and glares at Kidou, "What are _you_ doing here?" He pulls the cape tighter around himself – he's seriously considering not returning it at all. The thing must be made of cashmere or something, it is _way_ too soft.

"Visiting your mother," Kidou says matter-of-factly, over his mother's exasperated _'manners, Akio'_.

"Kidou-kun graciously dropped by for a visit, Akio," his mother says softly, "Be polite." She turns and smiles at Kidou, "Besides, I never get to meet any of your friends."

Fudou uncharitably thinks that there is a very good reason for that, when his mother's smile dims. "Kidou-kun told me what happened to your father," she says quietly.

Fudou's heart stops. He doesn't even hear Kidou excuse himself, he's frozen like a statue. It's the scrape of the chair that brings him out of the stupor but he can't meet his mother's gaze. He can't see whatever's in her eyes – whether its anger or grief or blame. He swallows thickly and can feel the now-familiar prickling sensation. Shouldn't he have run out of tears by now?

"Akio," his mother says gently, and Fudou can feel her hand cover his own. He looks up on instinct, but he doesn't see anger or grief in his mother's eyes. There _is_ sadness but there is acceptance as well and his mother is smiling. "Akio, it's okay."

"How can it be okay?" Fudou's voice breaks halfway through and there are fresh tears on his face. His mother opens her arms and Fudou chokes down his sobbing and clambers onto the bed. He's sweaty and dirty but he doesn't care because nothing – not even Kidou's ungodly soft cape – can replace the feeling of his mother's arms wrapping around him.

"Shh," his mother says, brushing a trembling hand through his hair, "It's okay, Akio. It's okay. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he mumbles into his mother's hospital gown. What does she possibly have to apologize for? It's Fudou who has to apologize, and he'll be apologizing until the day he dies.

"I'm sorry I asked you to find your father," she says quietly, "I should never have put that pressure on you."

"I'm the one who couldn't find him," Fudou rasps, hearing the steady beat of his mother's heart. The sound soothes him and Fudou gradually pulls back. He doesn't get off of the bed, however, and he doesn't let go of his mother's hand.

"Oh, Akio," his mother squeezes his hand and Fudou is alarmed to see that she's crying, "It doesn't matter. _He_ doesn't matter."

"He's your husband," Fudou says very quietly.

His mother takes a moment to grab a tissue off the table and wipe the tears off her face. "He was my husband," she says finally, "And I did love the man I married. But he changed the moment he walked out of our lives. It was a moment of insanity, asking to see him again. It's you, Akio," she smiles, "That I want by my side. It's you I'm proud of."

"You shouldn't be proud of me," Fudou says hollowly, looking down at his hands. He's still clutching Kidou's cape, like it's a safety blanket. "I'm weak. I'm not the son you want."

His mother sighs softly and gently extricates her hand from his. Fudou lets her, because this is the moment he's been dreading. He's broken the very first promise he has made and he deserves every second of his mother's fury. Perhaps she'll disown him – that would make a fitting end to this horrible evening.

"I regret many things, Akio," she says, "But do you know what I regret the most? Which single action I wish I'd never taken, which moment I relive constantly, hoping I'd get the chance to go back and do it again?"

"No," Fudou says dully. Probably giving birth to him.

"I wish I never said those words to you," his mother says gently and Fudou is shocked into meeting her eyes. There is regret and remorse and grief in those eyes and it is directed at herself. "I wish I never told you to be strong, I wish I never commanded you to be nothing like your father. I wish I never made you promise to never be weak."

Fudou is too surprised to speak, but his mother takes both his hands in hers and looks at him, a single tear escaping her watery eyes. "It's okay to be weak, Akio," she smiles sadly at him, "It's okay to let go every once in a while. True strength does not come from the absence of weakness, but in overcoming it."

"I," Fudou stutters, because his mother is telling him that everything he built his life on is a lie, "I don't –"

"I am so very sorry for steering you wrong," his mother says softly, "I hope that at least now I can rectify the mistakes I made all those years ago."

Fudou blinks silently at her, at the woman he has always been afraid of disappointing, as she tells him that she is proud of him. That he is not a failure and that she is the happiest mother in the world. That everything he has done in the name of being strong was a mistake, and that his weakness was never a crime.

"Kidou-kun is probably still waiting outside," his mother says, "Go and talk to him. I will still be here when you come back."

Fudou moves automatically to follow her request, his mind still reeling. He only snaps out of it when he steps into the corridor and see Kidou reclined on a chair.

"Hey," Kidou says, raising an eyebrow, "How are you?"

"Fine," Fudou replies habitually, before narrowing his eyes, "Traitor."

"You're being melodramatic," Kidou is definitely rolling his eyes behind those goggles.

Fudou narrows his eyes and proprietorially curls himself into Kidou's cape. "You're not getting this back," he says haughtily.

Kidou sighs loudly, but there is a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"You can go now," Fudou orders, before spinning on his heel to head back to his mother's bedside. He can hear Kidou mutter _'such disrespect'_ before the genius gamemaker clears his throat.

"Fudou," he says. Fudou doesn't turn back, but he stops and listens. "I'm your friend. You don't have to shut me out. Next time, tell me what's going on _before_ you start self-destructing."

Fudou can't help it. "Is that an order, _captain_?" he snorts, and doesn't stick around for the response.

Fudou disrespects Kidou, not because he can get away with it, but because Kidou will let it slide. It's a subtle distinction, but it makes all the difference in the world.

* * *

 **fin**

* * *

 **a/n:** Because for some reason, I kept picturing Fudou wrapped up in Kidou's cape and bristling like a indignant cat.


End file.
